Brandon’s not Toby. I know that. He’s not trying to control me—he’s offering help, and it’s strictly professional.
But just like back then, when I allowed Toby to lead me out of that dark lecture hall…
As Brandon leads the way, I follow.
4
Eyes Wide Open
Brandon
Lily-Anne chats softly beside me as I load her luggage into the back seat—little details about her flights, the extended stopover in Dubai, the live music scene she’s heard about in Whitstable. Her cheeks are still flushed, whether from excitement or the cold, I’m not sure, but the colour suits her. She’s easy to listen to. Light. Melodic. I’m happy for her to fill the silence so I don’t have to.
When I drove to the airport this morning, I expected awkwardness. A stranger in my passenger seat. Instead, she slips into the Audi like she belongs there.
“Nice car,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say, even though I know it’s not the luxury ride it once was. It’s little more than a relic of my former life, back when transporting clients in style still mattered to me.
These days, the boot smells faintly of salt and oyster baskets, so I’m relieved her luggage fits neatly on the back seat. Lily-Anne doesn’t strike me as someone who’d judge, but it hardly seems the ideal first impression—especially when she travelled here expecting Brandon, the music manager.
In my emails, I told her I’d stepped away from the music industry, but I didn’t say how far. Nor did I admit I’ve lost interest in the music scene.
She fastens her seat belt and gives me a bashful smile. “Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”
“I don’t mind,” I say truthfully, starting the engine.
The car warms up around us as we pull onto the motorway. She scrolls through her phone, frowning.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
“Mmh—my phone’s nearly dead. I forgot to charge it on the plane.”
“There’s a USB port. Is your charger in your bag?”
“Oh—yes! In my backpack…” She twists to reach it, but it’s wedged low between the seats, her suitcase blocking it completely.
She faces the front. “It’s fine. I don’t need my phone anyway.”
I should let it go. But given she’s in a foreign country, I’m sure she’d feel better with a working phone. My hands shift on the wheel.
“I don’t mind stopping. It’ll only take a second.”
“Really? Thank you.”
I pull over and get out before she can unbuckle. “Allow me,” I insist.
The chilled air rushes over my skin as I wait for cars to pass, their lights muted in the early-morning fog.
I open the rear door and crouch by the backpack, but hesitate before sliding the zip open. It feels odd to be going through her things.
“Should just be on top?” Lily-Anne calls, voice rising anxiously as more cars roar past.
It’s not.
There’s a magazine wedged inside, Nova’s haunting image making my blood turn cold. Her eyes stare up from the cover like she’s been waiting for me.
“Boo,”she whispers, cruel and amused.
